


A Fine Ol' Institution

by clgfanfic



Category: Alias Smith and Jones
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-29
Updated: 2012-10-29
Packaged: 2017-11-17 06:28:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/548609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clgfanfic/pseuds/clgfanfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When you get picked up with no money things can get a little crazy...</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Fine Ol' Institution

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published in the zine Just You, Me and the Governor #11 and then in Ouch! #14 under the pen name Lynn Gill.

          Heyes and Curry rode into the small town of Apache Junction.  Waves of heat rose from the baked dirt street, holding out the illusion of water in the distance, but both men knew it was just a trick of the Arizona sun and desert.

          Nearing mid-day, the two ex-outlaws had picked the small town rather than heading into Phoenix in hopes of avoiding any lawmen who might recognize them.  Better safe than sorry, Heyes had said.  And Curry agreed.  Neither man wanted to spend the rest of the day riding hard across the desert.

          The dusty main street was quiet, most of the residents indoors to escape the heat.  As they passed the small sheriff's office, Heyes casually read the faded name: Oscar P. Papp.

          "Don't know him, do we?" the Kid asked.

          "Nope," Heyes returned with a grin.

          Stopping at the hitching rack in front of the adobe saloon, the two trail-weary men dismounted.  Curry grabbed the pump at the end of the water trough, but let go with a yelp.

          "Hot?" Heyes asked nonchalantly.

          Curry glowered at the man, then pulled his handkerchief out and wrapped it around the handle before he tried pumping again.  A trickle, then a narrow stream of water splashed into the trough and the two horses edged over, shoving their noses into the wooden container.  When enough water accumulated they sucked in deep drinks, then sighed contentedly.

          The two men moved to the shade of an interlaced ocotillo overhang, Heyes rifling through his pockets.  "Hey, Thaddeus, how much money do you have?"

          Curry gave his partner a side-long glance.  "About as much as you do," he said.

          "I mean exactly."

          Curry sighed, but dug into his pant pockets and counted the meager number of coins.  "Twelve cents."

          "Ah."

          "Ah?  What does 'ah' mean?"

          "It means we've got enough for one of us to get a beer," Heyes informed him.

          "Ah."

          The pair leaned back against the whitewashed adobe wall and folded their arms across their chests.

          "You know," Curry finally said, reaching up to tip his hat back off his forehead. "There are times when the Wyoming Territorial Prison doesn't look so bad…"

          Heyes nodded, a thoughtful expression on his face.

          "Free room and board…"

          "Forced labor."

          "Roof over our heads…"

          "Bars in front of our faces."

          "Shelter from the sun in the summer and the snow in the winter…"

          "Twenty years without seeing a woman."

          Curry looked over at Heyes.  "You're right – a miserable hell hole."

          Heyes nodded, then grinned, slapping the Kid's shoulder with the back of his gloved hand.  "Come on."

          "Where're we going?" the Kid asked, catching Heyes' arm.

          "Inside."

          "But you said—"

          "We'll flip for it."

          "Whose coin?"

          Stepping inside the small saloon, both ex-outlaws squinted, allowing their vision to adjust to the dim light before making their way through the maze of empty small tables and rickety chairs.  At least it was considerably cooler inside than it was out on the street and both men removed their hats and wiped their faces.

          "What'll it be?" an older man behind the bar called without looking up from his game of solitaire.

          Ignoring the question, Heyes and Curry walked over to join the old man at the counter.  They leaned against the well worn wood and studied the card game.

          "Mr. Jones, what do you think the odds would be against me making five pat hands out of twenty-five cards?"

          The Kid turned and leaned against the bar and contemplated the question for a moment before he replied, "Twenty-five cards that you picked?"

          Heyes smiled and shook his head.  "If you were to gather up that deck, shuffle it, and deal me out twenty-five cards, do you think I could make five pat hands?"

          "Hell no," the barkeeper said.

          The Kid nodded.  "I'm afraid I have to agree, Mr. Smith."

          "Care to make a small wager?" Heyes asked the Kid.

          Curry straightened.  "What'd you have in mind?"

          "Oh, nothing too steep of course, say, five dollars?"

          "Five?" the bartender echoed.  "I'll take that bet if'n he don't."

          "Please," Curry replied magnanimously.  "I'll sit this one out, but I'll admit I'm curious."

          The older man turned the cards over, then swept them into a pile and picked them up.  He shuffled the deck a good twenty times and slapped off twenty-five cards.

          Heyes reached out, but the man stopped him.

          "Don't try no tricks, understand?  I've seen 'em all."

          "Of course not," Heyes reassured him.

          Picking up the small stack, Heyes turned the cards over and laid them out in a five-by-five square.  His forehead wrinkled slightly as his gaze darted over the mixed cards.

          "Well, go on," the bartender said, rapidly growing impatient.  "Let's see you make five pat hands."

          Heyes muttered under his breath and reached out, rearranging the collection, his concentration focused.  After several minutes he looked up at the Kid and sighed. "Can't be done."

          The old man hooted and slapped his leg.  "I knew it!  Hand it over."

          "What?" Heyes asked innocently.

          "Why, my five dollars, o' course."

          "Of course," Heyes said.  "Uh, well, would you like to make that double or nothing?"

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          The sheriff shut the cell door and locked it, chucking softly the entire time.  "You boys must be crazy, or desperate."

          "The latter, Sheriff," Heyes assured the man sincerely.

          "Well, it don't make no never mind to me," the tall, thin lawman replied.  He twisted the tip of his red handlebar mustache and chuckled some more.  "Hell of a trick, if it'd worked o' course.  But the Lord and I both frown on gamblin'."

          "That particular trick isn't usually a gamble," Heyes countered.

          "You don't say?"

          "Works nine times out of ten," Curry added.

          The sheriff walked over to his desk, his lanky frame sinking into the stuffed chair behind his desk.  He opened one of his desk drawers and pulled out a deck of cards.  He shuffled and counted out twenty-five cards, then turned them over and moved them around a few times until he had five pat hands.  He looked up, blue eyes amused.

          "There's just one thing I hate worse than a gambler," he said.

          "What's that?" Heyes asked, hoping the answer was a sore loser.

          "Confidence men."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Curry paced the small cell while Heyes lay quietly stretched out on one of the narrow cots.

          "Any more brilliant ideas?"

          Heyes glanced up at his long-time friend.  "Kid, I detect an air of mistrust.  I'm hurt."

          "I've gotta admit, Heyes," Curry replied quietly, "I'm beginning to think that goin' straight's addled your brain.  Maybe it's not gettin' the same kind of exercise it did back when we were… you know…"

          Heyes swung his legs over the edge of the cot and sat up, looking wounded.  "How can you say that?"

          "Easy.  Look where we are."  Curry bent down so he could say what he wanted without anyone overhearing.  "The Heyes I knew wouldn't've let this happen.  He would've used that obviously tarnished silver tongue of his to sweet-talk that old bartender out of two beers – for free."

          Heyes frowned, but considered the comment.  "Maybe you're right," he admitted as the sheriff stepped back into his office.  "Maybe I'm going a little soft in the head."

          The sheriff smiled and nodded.  "Just what I was tellin' Mr. Pritcher here."

          The two ex-outlaws glanced up at the stranger.  He was short and round, with a piggish face and nervous hands.  He stared at the pair like a butcher sizing up Sunday supper, then nodded.  "Oh, yes, Sheriff.  They'll do quite nicely."

          Heyes stood.  "Say, what's this all about?"

          The sheriff walked over to the cell and unlocked it.  "Given that you boys don't have fifty cents between you, I'd say you're transients.  And, given what happened in the saloon, I'd say you're both a little touched in the head."

          "We have just the place for men like you," Mr. Pritcher added with a sympathetic smile.

          "You from some church?" the Kid asked the man.

          Pritcher almost giggled as he shook his head.

          "Are we free to go?" Heyes asked.

          "Nope," the sheriff replied, drawing his gun and motioning for the pair to step clear of their cell.  Once out, he escorted them outside to a prison wagon.

          "What's this all about?" Curry demanded when he saw their horses tied to the back of the wagon.

          "Get in," the lawman demanded.

          With nothing else to do, Heyes and Curry complied.  Once they were safely locked inside with three other men, Papp handed Pritcher a sack.  "Here's their guns and other possibles."

          "I'll see to it they get them back when the harvest's over.  Thank you, Sheriff."

          Papp tipped his bowler.  "My pleasure, Mr. Pritcher.  I hate havin' no-accounts to tend to.  Got me more important things to do."

          "Well, good day to you, Sheriff," Pritcher said, climbing up to join the driver.

          Papp watched the wagon lurch off, shaking his head.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Riding in the back of the heavy metal wagon, Heyes and Curry tried to keep from colliding into the three other men who made the trip with them.  One sat in the corner of the barred wagon, lacing and unlacing his fingers over and over while he stared intently at his wiggling fingertips.

          "I caught cha," the man muttered.  "I done caught the Devil by the tail.  I did. Ya can't catch me when I got your tail, Mr. Lucifer… I caught ya."

          A second man sat with his back to the others, his face pressed against the sun-heated bars, staring out at the desert.  "Me Bonnie lies o'er the ocean," he said.  "She's out there.  Out in the ocean.  My Bonnie… my Bonnie…"

          The third watched Heyes and Curry with suspicious wariness, but said nothing.

          "Where do you think they're takin' us?" the Kid asked just loud enough for his partner to hear.

          Heyes shrugged.  "I wish I knew.  Work farm, maybe."

          "These guys are crazy."

          Heyes nodded.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          "Arizona Territorial Asylum?" Heyes read aloud as they rolled past the huge stone and wrought-iron gates.  He looked at his partner.  "They sent us to a lunatic asylum."

          "Heyes, we might be stupid sometimes, but even you're not that crazy."

          "Thanks, Kid," he replied.  "I think."

          The wagon rolled to a stop in front of a well-kept mansion.  Pritcher and the driver climbed down and walked around to the rear of the wagon.  The driver unlocked the doors and motioned for the prisoners to climb out.

          Heyes and Curry led the way, anxious to be out of the confining space.  They both looked around, noting the armed guards stationed around the grounds and the men and women working.

          "Gentlemen," Pritcher said, "welcome to the Territorial Asylum.  You've been sent here for a three to six month sentence.  At the end of that time, provided you haven't caused any trouble, and the doctor thinks you've regained your senses, you'll be given five dollars and released.  Until then, you'll be our guests.  The staff is here to help you, and you'll be able to help yourselves through clean living and hard work. Now, if you'll follow me, we'll get you settled in."

          Pritcher led the way into the large house.

          Curry nodded.  "You're right.  It's a work farm, no matter what they call it."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Heyes glanced around the clean if Spartan room.  It had probably been someone's bedroom, but now it looked more like a dormitory with six narrow cots arranged in two rows of three.  Next to each cot was a small nightstand, just big enough to hold a change of clothes and a Bible.

          "You men will stay in here," Pritcher said.  "There are clean coveralls and work shirts in the nightstands.  If you'd please change before supper?  I'll leave you to do that now.  When you're done, Nathan will show you to the dining room."  With that Pritcher left, closing the door behind him.

          Heyes and Curry waited until the other three men picked their cots, then took two next to each other on the empty side of the room.

          Sitting on his bed, Heyes tugged open the nightstand drawer.  A pair of used, but clean overalls and a shirt waited for him.  Pulling them out, he changed, finishing quickly.  He glanced at the Kid and grinned.  Both sets of clothes were slightly baggy on them.  "Reminds me of when we were kids."

          "Yeah, but I don't think they're gonna let us go fishin'."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Supper was an unusual affair.  Guards stood scattered around the room while several women carried in plates of food, which they set in front of the men, all of whom wore beards, except for the latest arrivals.  It was clear that some of the women serving were inmates as well.  A middle-aged woman's animated discussion with the mashed potatoes she carried made that clear.

          The two ex-outlaws helped themselves to the food and were pleasantly surprised to discover that it tasted as good as it looked, although both had a little trouble with the potatoes.  It was, after all, difficult to consume something a woman called her "darling babes."

          They were almost done with their second helpings when the old man seated next to the Kid chuckled softly to himself.  Curry guessed that the man was well into his sixties, with wiry gray hair and a chin full of matching whiskers.  His shoulders were hunched, suggesting that the man had been a miner most of his life, and a slightly round belly suggested he'd make a passing St. Nick come Christmas time.

          "Pardon me," Curry said, pointing to a bowl.  "Pass the potatoes?"

          The old man handed over the near-empty bowl and the Kid took half of what was left, then offered the rest to Heyes, who shook his head.

          "You boys is new, ain't cha."

          Heyes leaned forward slightly so he could meet the old man's gaze and nodded.

          "Thought so.  I can spot a ver-gin o' cross the room."

          Both men fought back smiles.

          The man stuck out his hand.  "Name's Thomas Nathanial Brownmiller, but jes call me Coot."

          "Coot?" the Kid asked.

          "That's what everybody else here calls me:  'ya ol' coot.'  That's me.  But ya-ol' sounds like somethin' outta the good book, and the Lord and me ain't on speakin' terms since I was a boy, so it's jes Coot."

          "I see," Heyes replied, wiping his mouth with his napkin to cover his smile.  He leaned a little closer to the man.  "Can you tell us, mmm, what we can expect?"

          "Well, let's see, what'd they get cha on, you two a pair of loonie-tics?"

          "Uh, no," Heyes said.  "Just broke."

          "Ah, then you's trans-c-ants.  That's good.  Means ya ain't loco in the head."

          "Glad to hear it," Curry muttered.

          "Trans-c-ants gets sent here for, oh, three, mebbe six months, 'til the pickin's done.  Then the doc'll let cha leave."

          "Picking?" Heyes asked him.

          "We gots a great big orchard here.  Fruit's gettin' ripe.  The men pick and them crazy women can.  O' course, some of the fruit gets sold right off, and them jams and preserves gets sold off too, but not 'til August."

          "I told you this was a work farm," Curry said softly, watching the guards, who ignored them.

          "Naw, ain't that bad.  You gets three meals a day, clean bed, and work t' keep ya honest."

          "It's that last one I'm worried about," the Kid lamented.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          After supper the men were escorted into what Heyes was sure must have been a grand ballroom at one time.  "Where are the ladies?" he asked Coot.

          "They keep them ladies to themselves.  Don't want no courtin' goings-on.  O' course every once in a while one of 'em gets up in the family way."

          "There are children here?" Curry asked, his eyes going round.

          "O' course not.  Them doctors ain't crazy.  Them babies get sent to 'n orphanage."

          "Great," the Kid replied, visions of his own days in the Home for Boys filling his memories.

          Twenty-some men were scattered around the room, playing cards or billiards, reading, or just sitting.  A few wandered aimlessly around the open floor space.  One of the wanderers broke into song, then recited bits and pieces from several different plays.

          "An actor," Coot said under his breath.  "Them's the craziest ones here."

          An odd clucking noise echoed through the room.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          A guard rapped on their door an hour before sunrise.  Heyes and Curry groaned, but forced themselves out of their beds.  They dressed and washed, the Kid looking for a razor to shave.

          "No razors," he announced.

          Heyes grinned.  "You'd give a razor to a man who thinks we're all big man-chickens covered with feathers and one step away from the frying pan?"

          Curry chuckled, remembering one of the more interesting residents they'd met the night before.  "No, I guess not."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          After breakfast the men were loaded onto wagons and taken to a large orchard full of several kinds of trees, all heavy with fruit.  "Must be what an oasis looks like," Heyes commented as he jumped down.

          "Must be some kind of underground spring here," Curry replied.  "But it just don't seem natural, growing fruit trees in the middle of the desert."

          They worked from sunrise to noon picking fruit and filling bushel baskets before they took a break for lunch.

          The partners sat, discussing how easy it would be to sneak away when Coot sat down next to them.  He wiped his wrinkled face and grinned at them.

          "When it cools off some I'm a gonna skidattle.  Go back up to my mountain."  He stopped and glanced around to make sure no one else was close enough to hear before he said, "I found it, you know."

          "Found what?" Heyes asked.

          "The mine."

          "Mine?" Curry repeated around a bit of his roasted beef sandwich.

          Coot's head tilted back and bobbed forward until his chin almost touched his chest.  "The Hundred Eagles Mine."

          "Hundred eagles?  I've never heard of that one," Heyes said.

          "Well o' course ya ain't.  It's a lost mine.  But I found 'er.  Yessiree.  I sure did. Why, they's enough gold in that there mine to make me a king."

          "Quit talkin' and start eatin', ya ol' coot!" one of the guards said good-naturedly as he walked by.  "We ain't got all day."

          "Yes, sir, I'll do that, sir."  He took a bite of his sandwich and chomped like a mule.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          "Don't pay that ol' coot no mind," the guard said as Heyes and Curry each lifted a full basket and set it in the back of a waiting wagon.  "He's been here a long time, ain't never been right in the head."

          Heyes nodded.  "Seems harmless enough."

          The guard shrugged.  "Guess so, but when the Doc lets him go he heads up into the foothills, pans a little gold, then gets drunk and proddy.  He ends up back here after a couple of months."

          "Any truth to his stories?" Heyes asked the guard.

          "Naw," the man replied, shaking his head.  "Seems like every man here knows where there's a hidden mine, or a pot of Leprechaun gold, or thinks he's the King of Spain, or Thomas Jefferson, or the Devil himself."

          Heyes chuckled.  "And then there's my friend and I."

          The guard regarded them for a moment before he said, "It's true, we do pick up a few transients during the picking season, but you've gotta admit, it sure beats rounding up cattle in this heat."

          "You've got a point there," Curry admitted.  "But when do we get to leave?"

          "The fruit'll all be in within a month or two.  Then the doctor'll come by and talk to you.  If he thinks you ain't crazy you'll get to go.  Even get a little stake, too.  But that's if you don't cause trouble.  If you cause trouble, then you'll be here longer."

          "We have no intention of causing trouble," Heyes assured the man.

          "Glad to hear it," the guard said.  "It's kind of nice having a couple of regular men working for us this year."

          "Oh, yeah," Heyes said, nodding seriously.  "We're about as regular as two fellas can get."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          "Joshua, you awake?"

          Heyes rolled over and stared up at the dark ceiling.  "I am now."

          "You think Coot's tellin' the truth?"

          "His version of it, anyway."

          "But what if he's right?  What if he knows where a lost mine is?"

          "Then I think it might be a good idea for you and I to stay on the good side of the King of Arizona."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Sitting at the dinner table, Heyes smiled up at a portly, middle-aged woman as she set a bowl filled with stewed cinnamon apples in front of the dark-haired man.  "Smells wonderful," he told her.

          She looked down at her pocket.  "You hear that, George?  This young man likes my stewed apples, just like you."

          "George?" Heyes asked, his eyebrows arching slightly.

          She nodded and reached into her pocket, pulling out a pair of wooden false teeth just far enough for Heyes to see them.  Then, with a brilliant smile she let the teeth drop back into the pocket and turned, her hem sweeping the wooden floor on her way back to the kitchen.

          Heyes glanced up and motioned to one of the guards.  The man stepped closer.  "Who was that?"

          "Martha Washington," he replied with a smirk.

          Heyes met the Kid's amused gaze.  "Better watch out," Curry said softly.  "You don't want to make the wife of the first president mad at you."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Curry rolled over and rubbed his nose to chase away a tickle.  The tickle returned.  He pawed at it again and heard the soft chuckle.  His eyes popped open.  "Coot?"

          "Evenin'."

          "Evenin', hell, it's the middle of the damned night," Curry corrected the old man.

          "Couldn't sleep, thought I'd come tell you boys 'bout my strike."

          Heyes groaned and rolled over.  Coot poked his backside.  "What?" the former leader of the Devil's Hole Gang demanded, rolling back to face the old man.

          "I was thinkin' , mebbe you two boys would help me.  Ya seem like decent fellas."

          "Help you what?" the Kid asked, snuggling back down and pulling his blanket up around his shoulders.

          "Why to e-scape o' course.  I need the two of you to help me get to my mine."

          "What'll it get us?" Heyes mumbled.

          Coot considered the question, then replied, "Twenty percent."

          "Good night, Coot," the Kid said.

          "Thirty."

          "See you in the morning," Heyes added.

          "Forty percent."

          "Close the door on your way out," Curry added.

          "All right, daggumit, fifty percent, but not a percent more."

          Heyes lifted himself up to rest on an elbow.  "For fifty percent we'll think about it."

          "Well, that's what I wanted t' hear," Coot said with a toothless grin.  "You tell me what ya decide at lunch break."

          "Will do," Curry mumbled, drifting back to sleep.

          Coot grinned at Heyes.  "I knew you boys could be trusted."

          The dark-haired man smiled and nodded.  "Goodnight, Coot."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          The next morning while Heyes worked in the orchards, he watched the general movement of the inmates and the guards.  The general atmosphere was relaxed, and men wandered from tree to tree, looking for the ripest fruit.  The guards wandered in and out of the trees as well, so there was no way to know where any particular guard might be at any given time.  However, the trees provided plenty of cover.

          When the lunch bell sounded, guards and inmates alike emerged from the trees, gathering at the lunch wagon where they each picked up a sandwich and a glass of lemonade, then found some shade under the trees to eat.

          Heyes dropped down next to the Kid with a sigh.

          Curry nodded, already devouring his sandwich.

          "You know," Heyes said.  "It wouldn't take much effort to sneak off."

          Curry nodded again, his mouth still full.  He chewed, then took a swallow of the lemonade before he said, "You're not thinking about leavin', are you?"

          Heyes grinned.  "Why?  You like it here?"

          Curry made a face.  "That's not what I meant, but we could do a lot worse.  I mean this isn't a bad way to spend the summer months.  Good food, clean bed, someone else doin' the laundry, and plenty of entertainment."

          Heyes continued to watch a man trying to eat while standing on his head and nodded. "You've got a point."

          "You thinkin' about helping Coot escape?"

          "Thinking about it, yeah."

          "You'll have t' do more 'n that to get fifty percent of my gold," Coot said, sitting down with the pair.

          "Coot, we're not sure we believe there is a mine," Heyes admitted truthfully.

          "Well, there sure is," the old man countered.  He reached down and pulled off a boot, then reached in and pulled up the flap of leather and took out a faded piece of paper.  He handed it to Heyes.

          The ex-outlaw unfolded the page.  Curry leaned closer to look at the crudely drawn map.

          "What's this?" the Kid asked.

          "My map."

          "Of the mine?" Heyes asked the old man.

          "Yep.  Jes wanted to prove t' you boys that I'm tellin' the truth."

          "There's nothing here to show where it really is," Heyes said.

          Coot gave him a frown.  "O' course there ain't.  I'm not a complete fool.  I copied that off'n my real map – took off all the landmarks."

          "Don't you trust us?" Curry demanded.

          Coot shrugged.  "Some," he said.  "I asked ya to come along, didn't I?"

          "He's got a point, Thaddeus," Heyes said.

          "So, are ya?" Coot demanded.

          "All right, we'll do it," Heyes agreed.  "But not right away.  This is a sweet situation for us, and we'd like to take advantage of it as long as we can."

          "All right," Coot grouched.  "But we'll have t' leave with plenty of time a'fore the snows start."

          "Travel?  Where?" the Kid asked.

          Coot opened his mouth to answer, but then closed it and shook his head.  "Nope, nope, nope.  I ain't tellin' you boys no more 'til we're on the trail."

          "Fair enough," Heyes said.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          "Smith, Jones, this way."

          The pair looked up from their cards.  The guard motioned for them to follow him.  They laid their cards down, both saying, "Fold."

          Standing, they followed the man out of the ball room.  "Where're we going?" Heyes asked as casually as he could.

          "The doctor's checking all the new arrivals."

          "Ah," Heyes replied.

          "There you go again," Curry said softly.

          "What?" Heyes asked him.

          "Ah-ing again.  The last time you did that it got us in trouble.  Better watch that around the doctor, or they'll extend our sentence."

          Heyes sighed.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          The doctor saw the Kid first while Heyes waited in the hall.  He tried pressing his ear against the wooden door, but he could only hear mumbles.

          Curry stepped back into the hall about twenty minutes, grinning.

          "How'd it go?" Heyes asked him.

          "Fine.  He's a real nice fella."

          "Glad to hear it."

          "Mr. Smith?" a voice beckoned.

          Heyes stepped into the small room and met the doctor's gaze.  "That's me."

          "Come in, please."

          Leaving the Kid, he stepped further into the room that had been converted into an office of sorts and closed the door.  The young man motioned for Heyes to take a seat and he did.

          The doctor sat behind a small desk and opened a folder.  "I see here that you were arrested as a transient, for pandering along with Mr. Jones."

          "Well, that's not exactly true, but it's close enough."

          The doctor glanced up and smiled briefly.  "And your name's Joshua Smith?"

          "Yes."

          "And where are you from, Mr. Smith?"

          "Well, I was born in Kansas, but I've spent most of my life… traveling… on the trail."

          "I see," the doctor said, scribbling a few notes into the file, making Heyes as nervous as a nesting chicken watching a fox.  "And what kind of work do you do?"

          "As little as possible."

          The doctor looked up.  "That's exactly what Mr. Jones said."

          "It's the truth.  We do a little ranch work, a little hauling, a little scouting, worked in a couple of little saloons, and done a little mining when we had to – just enough to keep us fed and buy a few of life's necessities, if you know what I mean."

          "I see," the doctor said, writing more notes.  "Now, tell me about this card trick you tried on the bartender."

          "Well," Heyes said, "it works about nine out of ten times, you just take a regular deck, shuffle it real good and deal out twenty-five cards.  Turn the cards over, lay them out and put five pat hands together."

          "And it's ninety percent effective?"

          Heyes nodded.  "Unfortunately number ten happened in Apache Junction."

          The doctor smiled.  "Well, no one's ever been committed for bad luck."

          "Glad to hear it," Heyes replied.  "I mean, I'd rather work off my sentence here for six months.  It beats sitting in jail for the same amount of time."

          The doctor nodded.  "There are times I'm not sanguine about the transient policy, but when the fruit comes ripe, we take all the help we can get."

          Heyes nodded.  "Makes sense to me."

          The doctor made a few more additions to his notes, then looked up and smiled at Heyes.  "I appreciate your candor, Mr. Smith.  I assure you, as soon as the harvest is over you and Mr. Jones will be free to leave."

          "I'd be lying if I didn't tell you that's a huge relief," Heyes said.  "I was a little worried about my friend."

          "Funny," the doctor said with a smile.  "He said the same thing about you."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          After supper Heyes caught the doctor's attention and asked for a few moments of his time.  They retired to the small office.

          "What can I do for you, Mr. Smith?"

          "I was just wondering about, Coot— Uh—"

          "Has he been telling you about his lost mine?"

          Heyes nodded.

          "Ol' Coot's found a lot of things since I've been the doctor here.  The El Dorado, the fountain of youth, and now this Hundred Eagles mine of his."

          "Is there any chance he's really found something?"

          "I suppose there's always a possibility, but I'd say the odds are pretty slim.  He escaped last year, made it up into the Sierra Nevada where some miners found him. He was dancing stark naked in the middle of a blizzard."

          Heyes' eyes rounded slightly.  "Did he say why?"

          The doctor nodded.  "He told them that a beautiful Indian princess had made him her love slave."

          "I see," Heyes said with a slightly lecherous grin.

          "If I were you, I'd just listen to the old man's stories and then forget about them."

          Heyes nodded.  "Thank you, Doctor."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          The next afternoon Heyes and the Kid sat under a peach tree with Coot, eating lunch and listening to the old man tell them about his trip to the lost mine.  When it was nearly time to return to picking, Heyes broke the bad news.

          "Coot, we've been talking…"

          The old man fell silent.

          "And we're not—"

          "Ya ain't gonna take me to my mine, are ya?"

          Heyes shook his head.

          "That Doc Green's been talkin' to you, ain't he?"

          "He said you've found a lot of things," Heyes said, trying to be tactful.

          "Including an Indian princess," Curry added with a grin.

          "Ah, she was a looker," Coot said, a wistful smile taking over his face.  "Hair blacker 'n—"

          "Coot," Heyes interrupted.

          "Tell ya what," the old man said.  "You boys take me up t' my mine and we'll split it three ways.  Be worth it just to prove t' ya I'm tellin' the truth."

          The two ex-outlaws exchanged glances.  Curry shrugged.

          "All right," Heyes said.  "But not until the picking's finished."

          "That's gettin' awful late," Coot said.  "Might hit snow."

          "We'll take that chance," the Kid assured him.

          "You got yourselves a deal," Coot said with a toothless grin.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          After supper Heyes and Curry retired to the ballroom, hoping for a game of poker.  Heading for the card table, Curry brushed past a tall, red-haired man.  The man drew himself up and barked, "Hey, you!"

          The Kid stopped and turned.  "You talkin' to us?"

          "No, I'm talkin' to you," Red corrected.  He squinted his eyes and stuck his jaw out as far as it would go.  "You know who I am?"

          Curry peered more intently at the man's face.  "No.  Should I?"

          "I'm Frank 'Red Devil' Maury, famous gunfighter."

          "Sorry," the Kid replied with a shrug, "never heard of you."

          "Never—?"  Red broke off and took three long strides, bringing him nose to nose with Curry.

          Heyes stepped up next to the man and Red glanced down at the dark-haired man.  "I know who you are, Red Devil," Heyes said softly.  "But do you know who he is?" he asked, nodding to Curry.

          Red looked from the Kid to Heyes and then back to Curry.  "Nope," he replied. "Should I?"

          "Oh, yeah," Heyes said just above a whisper.  He could see that the guards were watching, but they were keeping their distance.  "You should."

          "Why?" Red asked.

          "Because I've seen both of you draw," Heyes told him.  He nodded at the Kid again.  "He's faster."

          Red's eyes rounded.  "Ain't possible.  There's just one man faster 'n me."

          "And he's that man," Heyes said matter-of-factly.  "He's… Kid Curry."

          Red's eyes narrowed and he peered intently at the Kid.  "That true?"

          "Yep," Curry said, sticking out his hand.  "Jed Curry."

          Red swallowed hard, then accepted the extended hand and shook it.  "I'm— I'm right proud to meet ya, Kid."

          "Likewise, Frank."

          "Please, call me Red Devil, Mr. Curry."

          "All right, but only if you'll call me Jones."

          Red nodded, his gaze flickering around the room.  "Don't want the guards to know who ya really are, huh?"

          "That's right," the Kid said.

          Red Devil looked to Heyes.  "And who're you?"

          Heyes leaned forward and whispered into the man's ear.

          Red Devil's eyes flew wide, then he stepped back with a smile.  "Ya can count on me… Mr. Smith."  With that he turned and headed out of the room.

          "What'd you tell him?" Curry asked, an amused expression on his face.

          Heyes grinned.  "The truth."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          The next morning Heyes was on his way to the wagon when the doctor intercepted him.  "Uh, Mr. Smith, could I have a word with you?"

          "Sure, but—"

          "I'm sure we can find something around here for you today."

          Heyes nodded to the Kid and Curry left with the rest of the men for the orchards.  He followed the doctor into his tiny office and took a seat.  "What can I do for you, Doctor?"

          The man sank into his seat.  "I was just wondering if you could tell me why you told Frank that your friend's Kid Curry."

          Heyes sat for a moment, then said, "Because he is."

          "And you?"

          "I'm Hannibal Heyes," he stated truthfully.

          "Of course you are," the doctor said with a sigh.

          "Well, at least as long as we're here," Heyes admitted after a moment.  "After that we're just plain old Joshua Smith and Thaddeus Jones again."

          "I see," Dr. Green said, a small smile forming at the corners of his lips.  "And I can understand why this ruse might be helpful to keep some of the more… troubled patients from dogging you, but I must ask that you refrain from stirring up the men."

          Heyes nodded.  "The last thing the Kid and I want is trouble."

          "Glad to hear that… Mr. Heyes.  But could you elaborate?"

          Heyes fought the grin off his face as he said, "Well, Doc, it's like this.  The Governor of Wyoming's offered the Kid and me an amnesty if we can stay out of trouble for a while."

          "How long?"

          "He didn't exactly say."

          "That's not much of a deal."

          "You can say that again, especially since he won't let us tell anyone about it, so as far as the law's concerned, we're still wanted."

          "Excellent, excellent," the doctor said with a smile.  "That's a perfect excuse for not causing trouble.  Keep up the good work… Mr. Heyes."

          The former outlaw smiled.  "I will, Doc."

          "Why don't you see if the ladies can use any help in the kitchen."

          "Always happy to help the ladies," Heyes replied, standing.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Curry walked back into the welcome coolness of the big adobe house.  Heyes was waiting for him.  "Hey, Kid, how'd it go?"

          The blond ducked his head and glanced anxiously around.  "Shh," he said.

          "What?" Heyes asked.  "Come on, Kid, you're starting to get a little paranoid."

          Curry took a step up next to Heyes and hissed.  "Would you quit callin' me 'Kid'?  Somebody might hear you and tell the doctor."

          "Too late."

          "Too late?"

          "Yep, I already told him you're Kid Curry."

          "You what?  Are you—?"

          "Nope, I'm not crazy.  I'm Hannibal Heyes, and that the Governor of Wyoming offered us an amnesty—"

          "Heyes, what were you thinkin'?  We've gotta get our guns, our horses and get out of here!"

          "Calm down, Kid," Heyes soothed.  "He didn't believe a word of it."

          "He didn't?"

          Heyes shrugged.  "Guess he thought it was pretty crazy."

          The Kid chuckled.  "So we can use our names and no one's gonna care?"

          "Nope."

          Curry's grin widened to a broad smile.  "You know, Heyes, I could get to like this place."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          By late August the picking was finished.  The doctor told Heyes that he and the Kid were free to leave.  They were given their clothes, possessions, and their guns and told that if they would spend the day picking, one of the guards would bring their horses out with the lunch wagon.  They agreed.

          While they picked fruit that morning, Heyes decided on how they were going to spirit Coot away.  He watched the lunch wagon arrive, their horses tied to the back, and grinned.

          "What?" Curry asked him.

          "Just thinking that since our horses are here, it's time we got started."

          "You've got a plan," the Kid stated confidently.

          "Yep."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Heyes and Curry ate their lunch, shook hands with the guards and started for their horses just as a loud scream echoed through the trees.  Coot was right on time.

          One of the men shot through the trees, yelling, "The Devil, the Devil!  The Devil's gonna get me!"

          Another man bolted after him.  "Come back!  You chicken!  You chicken who consumed that man!  I'll pluck you sure!"

          The guards rushed after the wailing men.

          Heyes and Curry rode into the trees.  Curry pausing just long enough to reach down and help Coot mount behind him.  With that done, they loped off into the shadows of the trees.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          By the end of the day Coot was getting nervous.  They stopped for the night, Curry building a fire while Heyes brought water back and made coffee.  Coot huddled next to the flames, his shoulders hunched more than usual.

          "What's wrong?" the Kid asked the old man.  "You're a free man.  And you're on your way to your mine."

          Coot nodded.  "I'm scared," the old man admitted.  "I ain't proud to admit it, but I've been spendin' so much time at the a-sylum.  I just don't feel right 'bout being out here."

          "You want to go back?" Heyes asked him.

          Coot nodded.

          Heyes and Curry exchanged glances.  "What about the gold?" the dark-haired ex-outlaw asked.

          Coot's forehead wrinkled like an old dog's and he scratched his chin.  "Tell ya what," he finally said.  "I'll make you boys a deal."

          "A deal?" Curry echoed.

          "This here mine's my best secret.  You tell me a secret and I'll give ya the map, if'n you promise to send me some of the gold."

          Heyes and Curry exchanged glances again.  "All right," Heyes said.  "Sounds like a fair deal."

          "So," Coot said, his eyes suddenly shining with youthful excitement.  "What's your secret?"

          "I really am Hannibal Heyes, and he's really Kid Curry."

          Coot snorted and shook his head.  "That's what you said back at the a-slyum.  I mean the truth, a real secret."

          "That _is_ the truth," the Kid said.  "He really is Hannibal Heyes and I'm really Kid Curry."

          "Prove it," Coot demanded.

          Curry stood and walked around until he found a small piece of wood.  "Watch," he said, tossing the target into the air.  With the lightning speed that had earned Curry his reputation, he drew and fired, hitting the wood once, then again.

          Coot's eyes widened and he howled with excitement.  "You really is Kid Curry!  You really is!"

          Curry grinned and sat back down.  "Yep, and he really is Hannibal Heyes."

          "And if we stay out of trouble, and don't get caught by any posses or bounty hunters, the Governor of Wyoming really did promise us an amnesty," Heyes added.

          Coot nodded, pulled his boot off and dug out his map.  Using the tip of a burned twig, he added more details to the crude drawing, then handed it over to Heyes.  "Here's my map.  Good luck, boys!"

          The next morning Heyes and Curry headed north and Coot headed back to the asylum.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          In the rugged foothills of the Sierra Nevada, Heyes and Curry ignored the snow and used the map to pinpoint a location for the lost Hundred Eagles mine.  They glanced around, but found nothing to suggest that a mine had once been in operation on the site.

          "Think he really was just crazy?" the Kid asked his partner.

          Heyes shrugged, studying the map and checking the landscape.  He walked over to where three large boulders formed a crude pyramid.  "Hey, Kid, help me here."

          Curry joined his partner and together they dug around the base of the rocks.

          "Heyes!" the Kid called after a few minutes.  "I found something," he said, digging it free.  He held up an old leather sack and shook it.  A familiar tinkle answered.

          Opening it, the Kid poured out a stack of twenty dollar gold pieces.  "Hundred Eagles?" he asked.

          "I'd bet that there's a hundred of them," Heyes agreed, grinning.

          "I'll be damned," Curry chuckled.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Dr. Green looked up as Coot walked into his office.

          "Ya wanted to see me?" the old man asked.

          The doctor motioned for Coot to sit, and he did.  "I have a letter here for you from Smith and Jones," the physician said.

          Coot grinned.  "Them boys ain't Smith and Jones, Doc.  That was Hannibal Heyes and Kid Curry.  I made 'em tell me and prove it a'fore I gave 'em my map."

          The doctor smiled indulgently as he handed over the letter, watching as Coot tore it open and tilted it on end.  A twenty dollar gold piece fell out into his palm.  Coot cackled and slapped his knee.  "They found it!  They found my mine!"

          Coot handed the coin to the doctor, who turned it over in his fingers, frowning. "They really were Hannibal Heyes and Kid Curry?"

          "Of course they is!  And one day they's gonna get that amnesty!  I kin feel it in m' bones!"

The End


End file.
